


A Velvet Prison

by cinereous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, PWP, Self-cest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 06:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: Akira wakes in the velvet prison, but finds that he is unable to leave. Help comes with the appearance of Joker, and he brings with him some very unorthodox advice.





	A Velvet Prison

    The prison Akira visits in his dreams haunts his waking hours. It's far too on the nose for someone who is a breath away from being put into juvenile detention for sneezing too loudly -- to say nothing of the odd prison-like area of Mementos they have reached most recently. Seeing those bizarre tombstones with bars in them certainly rattled him more than enough, and Akira can only be so grateful that it is Joker who takes over for him in the depths.  
  
    It is for these reasons that Akira feels like he's slowly losing his mind.  
  
    For the hundredth time, Akira squeezes his eyes tightly shut and counts to ten before opening them again...finding the velvet prison still around him. The slow and mania inducing drip of water at the latrine still greets his ears, and as he sits up on the uncomfortable cot, the soft rattle of chains mixes with it.  
  
    Time has no meaning in this place, but Akira is certain that he has been here more than one night. He's not sure at all, but to him it feels like it's been three. The warden had leered at him for hours after his arrival, which was nothing new, but Akira has been here so long that he and his twin guards have left.  
  
    He finds himself utterly alone in the tiny cell. A soft and all encompassing panic has begun to creep into his body and settle into his bones with sharp teeth. His greatest fear is upon him: that he would not wake up from this place.  
  
    Each night he had visited and been able to wake the next day had felt like a sigh of great relief. Thus far, he'd dodged this fearful inevitability, but it would seem he has finally run out of luck.  
  
    Akira slowly gets to his feet, walking to the bars and pressing his fingers around the cold iron to stare out. Still alone. The silence is deafening and somehow the place is all the more sinister with no one else around. Normally there is the large overhead light that beats down over the warden, but with him gone the only light is the small lamp on his desk. Every cell in this circle is eerie and dark, and Akira's eyes play tricks on him. In his paranoia he feels like there are movements inside.  
  
    Why? Why is he still here? Why has he not woken up?  
  
    Akira presses his face to the bars, tired and exhausted and starving. The tray in the door is empty and mocking, and Akira wants desperately to hurl it across the room. But he doesn't dare. He doesn't know what would happen. He doesn't know what punishments would await him. He has watched too many persona guillotines at this point to ever risk misbehavior.  
  
    It is with that final thought and a sinking heart that he shifts back a bit, fingers going numb and cold with fear as he collapses down to a sit on the floor and leans against the soft, padded wall.  
  
    None of his friends know about this place. Only he could see and experience it, and therefore, no one would be coming to his rescue. For whatever reason he is imprisoned here, and unless he simply is lucky and wakes up...this is where he would stay.  
  
    The truth, oddly, has little impact beyond his insides going cold. Akira curls his knees up to his chest with the muttering of chains and stares at his wrists. The manacles they have him in are large and uncomfortable, and he is already getting raw underneath the metal.  
  
    He doesn't know how long he stares unseeing, but when a movement in his peripheral vision rushes by Akira almost shrieks with alarm. Instead. he goes stone still, grey eyes wide and terrified as he stares between the bars into the shadow filled room and waits, heart thundering in his chest.  
  
    From the side, a figure walks into his vision. Akira almost screams until he realizes who it is. It's Joker.  
  
    Hope bursts as harsh and painful as a breaking dam in his chest, and Akira struggles up to his bare feet and rushes up to the bars. Joker is smirking just as calm and darkly amused as always. It's strange to be looking at himself in this way.  
  
    "How are you- it doesn't matter. Can you get me out?"  
  
    Joker smirks again, fitting an elbow between the bars in a good spot and resting it there so he could press his cheek against his fist.  
  
    "I don't know. _Can_ you get out?"  
  
    Akira takes a step back as if offended and his hands on the bars go tight enough to burn white. "Does it look like I can get myself out!? I've been here for _days_. I can't wake up, and now you're here. I don't know if I'm going crazy or something worse."  
  
    Black rimmed eyes flutter closed before Joker is chuckling, the sound almost enchantingly alluring there in the silence as a gloved hand slips through the bars and cups his face. The material is soft and buttery against his skin. Akira is surprised by how warm it feels.  
  
    "You were knocked out in Mementos. An Ippon-Datara slammed me over the head with his hammer and suddenly it felt like you were gone. A connection was cut. I disappeared."  
  
    O-oh. Akira listens and leans into his double's touch as if needy. He hasn't seen anyone but the warden and his twins, and he's dying for any kind of communication and affection. "How did you get here then? Where have you been?"  
  
    "Trying to find you," Joker says with a snort that makes it sound like that ought to have been obvious. "This is definitely an interesting place. One I'm not supposed to be in either. We need to get you out quickly."  
  
    It sounds like Joker has a plan. Akira actually smiles for him and nods enthusiastically as he cups the gloved hand at his cheek. "What do we do?"  
  
    The hand suddenly leaves him, and Akira feels his insides going cold again as Joker takes a step back and crosses an arm over his chest to hold his elbow. His posture is indolent and lazy as he once again rests his cheek on his hand.  
  
    "Not what _we_ do. What _you_ do. I have no power here. I'm sure you've noticed this is a prison."  
  
    Akira scowls at his doppelganger and knows there is a glare settling over his face. "You don't fucking say. Was it the bars and chains that gave it away?"  
  
    Joker just laughs again, and Akira hates that it sounds sexy to him. "Let me put it another way. I exist in the Metaverse because I am your rebellion made manifest. Doesn't it make sense that this prison you go to in your dreams is your conformity and fear made manifest?"  
  
    That...Akira goes silent, the glare washing away harmlessly as if it had never been there at all. Joker raises a good point. Had he come here to keep himself in line? To war against his rebellion? Every single day he lives in a prison of his own making, wearing glasses and keeping his head down and making good grades. He is a model citizen and toeing the line, but it isn't him.  
  
    "What are you trying to say?"  
  
    In his chest he feels like he already knows the solution, but he's not at all sure how to execute it. Joker slowly inches back towards the bars, and his smirk is deep and sharp as he presses right up against the door.  
  
    Akira watches him move like a snake, and suddenly Joker's hand is pressed against the front of his pants. He gasps so loudly it's like a crack of thunder in the silent jail cell as he jolts under that surprising touch.  
  
    "I'm saying that you have to be a bad prisoner in order to claw your way out of here. They expect you to be silent and accept your lashes. I think you came here after you were hit because you think you deserve it deep down. That's why you haven't woken up. That's why I was able to find you. Your unhappiness is a fucking _beacon_. So...be bad."  
  
    Fuck. Akira shudders heavily as he inadvertently grinds forward into Joker's hand. It's hard not to stare at his similar mouth that now pulls into an actual smile, but one that looks almost feline and dangerous.  
  
    He wants to ask for more direction. He wants to demand to know why the fuck Joker is touching him! There is so much he doesn't know or understand, but he can feel in his chest the truth. He is trapped in a cell. He can cause a scene, but the easiest thing he can do is fucking enjoy himself in this place.  
  
    As he seems to realize this, Joker's eyes practically flicker with pride and excitement, and Akira whines softly as the thief eases away again. He watches in disbelief as he goes across the room and takes the warden's chair, dragging it along the floor without even a hint of concern. Once it is placed a short distance from his door Joker sprawls out in it with his booted feet crossed at the ankles, and the food tray goes clattering loudly to the ground as he rests them against the metal slot it had been perched upon.  
  
    "Like I said, I can't do anything for you here. This is your prison. Don't worry. I won't leave you alone. I'll wait."  
  
    He'll wait. Akira immediately blushes so hard and fast that he is sure there are flames licking his skin, and he looks at him with unabashed embarrassment. "You're just going to watch me?" The silence he receives in answer is deafening and speaks volumes. Akira realizes too late that he is hard in these ugly rags, and they do nothing to hide the fact.  
  
    This is insane. He's not going to masturbate in front of Joker! He must be fucking with him. This isn't going to get him out of here.  
  
    Is it?  
  
    Akira bites his lip as he stares at Joker and his easy confidence there in the dark. His curly hair is outlined by the lamp light, and it makes him look both haloed and sinister, his eyes pinpricks beneath his mask despite having no light facing him.  
  
    He has to try. Anything to get him out of this place. He's already spent days in this godawful place that is nothing but cold, chains, and verbal abuse. He refuses to stay their prisoner.  
  
    Feeling only a lot silly, Akira awkwardly slides his hand down the front of his striped pants, grimacing and looking at the floor in order to not look at Joker. He feels incredibly unsexy in that moment, which he can't imagine is fun for Joker to watch either. Eugh. Even as he wraps his fingers around his cock, he finds he's losing interest.  
  
    "You are a mess. Do I have to do everything?"  
  
    That's enough that Akira jerks his head up to see Joker spinning his dagger lazily and looking bored as hell. Akira is irritated in an instant, and he jerks his hand out of his pants. "No! It's kind of difficult when someone is watching."  
  
    The laugh he receives in response makes his blood pulse, and Akira is utterly ashamed to realize his cock twitches with interest.  
  
    "Nobody likes a liar, Akira. You can lie to everyone else, but that's what got you in this mess in the first place. You certainly can't lie to me. I know you like it. You like eyes on you. You like to be looked at. I am you. Remember that."  
  
    A part of him wants to argue. He does not like to be looked at. That makes him sound so fucking vain! How dare he insinuate that Akira is full of himself. But then he slowly burns beet red as he thinks about his fantasies when he got those spare moments alone in the attic to touch himself. It usually involves being touched by some unseen man, in the middle of a subway car, or in a public bathroom or even right in the middle of his classroom.  
  
    It's not that he thinks he's incredibly sexy and deserves to be looked at, but Akira definitely likes to be on display and looked at when it comes to this. Already he can feel his arousal start to build as he notes that Joker is just staring at him without blinking. Akira is sure that if he had a tail, it would be flicking moodily the whole time those eyes burn at his skin.  
  
    Akira swallows thickly and slowly dips his hand back beneath the band of his pants. He's hot to the touch now, and he wraps his fingers around his cock with a breathy exhale. It's shamefully easy to begin a slow, heavy rhythm all while he stares at Joker staring at him. It's like a bizarre mirror, and in seconds, he's already fully hard.  
  
    "I can't see you," Joker calls over, his voice a crooning singsong and his teeth glistening faintly in the darkness as he smiles.  
      
    His fingers only tremble a small bit as he hooks his thumbs beneath the elastic and eases them down just enough that he could free his erection and let it rest over the top. That first little blast of cool air over such delicate skin makes him shiver, and Akira burns under his embarrassed blush the whole time Joker stares at him.  
  
    "It's fun isn't it? The warden or the guards could show up at any moment. You don't know what time of day it is. They could be watching right now."  
  
    Akira immediately looks around the room with fear in his eyes, desperate to make sure there aren't cameras that he had just plain missed during his time here. Then he has to chastise himself. This place isn't even on the same plane of reality. It doesn't need cameras.  
  
    "You're adorable. Why don't you pull that stupid ball up close and get rid of those hideous clothes. I can't believe you wear them at all."  
  
    "I'm not going to sit in here naked," Akira gripes, but he is already moving to pull the shirt up over his head and down his arms until he realizes the chains on his wrists completely prevent him from taking the garment off. "See!"  
  
    A delicate snort and an overly loud snap of his fingers is all the answer Akira receives before the shirt and his pants both are suddenly piled on the floor at his feet. He is now completely bare save his manacles, and Akira just barely avoids shoving his hands over his crotch for decency. Barely.  
  
    "Get comfortable. Not on the bed. I can't see you over there," Joker bids. Akira has to question himself as he finds himself just doing whatever he has been bid to do and silently finding his own voice to be so attractive.  
  
    He looks around awkwardly while clutching at his own arms and decides that no, there really isn't anything of note for comfort in this cell. He simply grabs his lumpy, stained pillow and tosses it down. It would protect his ass or his knees from the floor if nothing else.  
  
    That in mind, he eases down to his knees on top of it and stares up at Joker who just keeps spinning his dagger. The soft glow and glimmer of the blade is almost as mesmerizing as his smirk. "That's perfect. Almost. Hmm...I think you need to be more indecent. Put the ball between your legs."  
  
    "Excuse me!?" Akira sputters, flushed and ashamed that his cock is so obviously interested in the proceedings. He glances down and licks his lips in utter distraction as he sees a bead of precum welling and threatening to slide down. The shame of that is enough he hangs his head just a bit.  
  
    "I'm waiting."  
  
    Akira grits his teeth as he reaches for the heavy bowling ball of a weight that is shackled to his ankle and tugs it across the floor. The sound of it is grating, but he is offered some amount of reprieve as he finally manages to get it close enough to the bars. He nestles it atop the pillow, a few inches behind his knees and perfectly centered between them. It's a little precarious, but it would hopefully appease Joker.  
  
    "There."  
  
    The dagger twirls up into the air and Joker catches it, moving from his perch on the chair and instead looming down while he rests his arms on his knees. His lips look vaguely pink and damp as if he had recently bitten them, and Akira has the sudden urge to bite his own.  
  
    "There indeed. Have a seat, Akira. I'm ready for the show to start."  
  
    Wha-  
  
    Akira swallows again as if around a lump in his throat, but he already knows what he means. Feeling like a complete fucking idiot and a weirdo, he eases down. The position and the movement requires him to spread his knees wider apart, and as his ass touches down on the ball the bite of cold metal causes him to gasp and hiss loudly.  
  
    It is certainly not comfortable whatsoever, but as he stubbornly reaches up to start touching himself again, he suddenly regrets listening to his twin.  
  
    The surface of the ball is unforgivably smooth, and Akira's blush scorches his whole face and neck as he feels himself spread around the roundness of it. The faint stretching sensation sends a bolt of electricity up his spine. There is nowhere to go. If he shifts forward, the cold metal kisses at his perineum, and if he shifts backwards, he sits jutting his hips out and presenting his arousal to Joker like he's a porn star.  
  
    Fuck.  
  
    His breath is harsh in his chest as Akira wets his lips and starts to drag his hand up and down his cock. Joker is closer now, his gaze digging into every inch of his body like nails. This jail cell is freezing, but all the same, Akira feels sweat start to dapple along his skin.  
  
    "Good. I'm proud of you," Joker whispers, leaning on the bars and leering gorgeously. "We're such a pretty thing. The world doesn't appreciate how hot we are under those glasses."  
  
    Even as he speaks Akira grows bashful, turning his face away as he squeezes heavily at the base and slowly and tantalizing drags the tight circle of his hand upwards. The sensation of a rubbery fingertip dipping along the slit of his cock makes him cry out and his hips jump. As Akira's eyes flash over Joker is leaning with his arm outstretched, fingers fanned artfully with the telltale slickness on his middle finger.  
  
    "D-don't."  
  
    Joker laughs. The sound of it is soft, but it still fills the chamber like it owns the floor and every wall. "If you insist. Give me your hand."  
  
    Akira stares at Joker with distrust on his face, eyes narrowed and his sweat damp hair heavy and hot around his face. He shouldn't trust him. Nothing about this situation should make him trust him, but he just wants to leave and Joker is here.  
  
    He reaches out with his left hand given his right is still wrapped around his cock, and he is surprised when Joker doesn't take it so much as grip at the heavy metal cuff on his wrist. As he does so, the chain between his wrists goes taut, and his hand is pulled away from his erection.  
  
    "Wha-...You said I had to-...Joker!"  
  
    The answering smile is a devious one. Akira feels pinned by his gaze like a butterfly under glass.  
  
    "Don't whine. You're good at rolling with the punches, aren't you? The show must go on."  
  
    His heart is thumping in his chest, and Akira strains his right hand down towards his cock. To his eternal frustration, he can't quite reach. He does the only thing he can. He eases off the ball and nudges it forward with his knees.  
  
    The whole time he does this his breathing is shallow, and he feels like ants are crawling across his skin. He's hot and needy and shaking, hunger mixing with pleasure in the most bizarre way. Finally he's got the ball where he needs it, and it is with a soul shaking sigh of pleasure that he's able to lean forward and gently thrust his hips along the shape of it. The metal is warm from his body heat and electrifying along the length of his cock.  
  
    "Oh fuck," he whispers, voice little more than a whine of pleasure as his fingers flex and claw mid-air where they dangle. He shuffles his hips like a dying man, needy and desperate, all while Joker's eyes bore holes into him.  
  
    He looks up through his hair to see Joker's eyes bright and hungry in front of him, and when Joker dips down to drag his tongue sensually along the length of one of his captive fingers, Akira moans. The sound is hyper loud, and he bucks against the iron ball with shameful enthusiasm.  
  
    "P-please, Joker..."  
  
    Even though he begs, Joker does not listen at all. He just gives a smoky chuckle and scrapes his teeth along his finger instead. It's too fucking much. He's so close. Akira gasps and shuffles forward on his knees more, rolling the ball and chain with him until he's just close enough he could plunge his dangling hand down and drag the meaty heel of his hand down along the top of his cock to apply pressure. Any pressure.  
  
    " _Fuck_. Fuck, I'm so close," he babbles, feeling a drop of sweat roll down his ribs. He's shaking and so hot he feels like he's going to pass out. He needs more. He needs something real and tangible or he's going to lose his fucking mind.  
  
    Joker knows too. He can tell by his face. He looks pleased and amused and cool, and Akira wants to bite his nose off his face.  
      
    "Come closer. Let me tell you a secret," Joker says, and Akira finds himself compelled again. He just wants to be closer. He wants to leave this place.  
  
    He wants to _come_.  
  
    Akira pushes forward until the ball clanks against the bars of his cell, and he leans in. Crimson fingers alight along his jaw and that is enough to make him moan as his head is turned to bare his ear to Joker.  
  
    Hot lips ghost at his ear and his thighs quiver as he clings desperately to the bars and keeps rubbing himself helplessly against the ball.  
  
    "Do you want to touch yourself, Akira?" he whispers, voice so hot against his ear that it makes Akira cry out. He nods violently with a tumble of curls, not trusting himself to try to speak because he knows it will devolve into begging.  
  
    "Do you want me to let you go so you can touch yourself?" he goes on and again, Akira nods with great force, his brows knitting into a glare because he's becoming so fucking frustrated. He fucking aches at this point, and he's being toyed with!  
  
    "Then do it."  
  
    Akira wants to fucking bark at him to tell him that he was fucking holding him back, except...he's not. Akira seems to realize the weight is gone, and as he looks at the hand nearest his face gripping at the bars, there is no shackle.  
  
    The bigger meaning behind that doesn't even register at all. Instead, Akira is plunging his hand down between his legs in a fit of blind panic in case the chains come back, fisting at his cock as fast and hard as he can.  
  
    He is bewildered to realize that he's practically sobbing half thought out words and rubbing his face into the bars. Suddenly a hot mouth and sharp teeth engulf his ear as gloved fingers alight along his chest to pinch.  
  
    Akira screams, Joker's hand slapping across his face to muffle it as he comes. Wave after wave of pure molten pleasure rolls down his spine, and he bucks and heaves against the ball as he spills himself. He can feel the heat of it along his fingers and, in a fit of curiosity and swiftly dawning horror, he peels himself back just enough to look down and confirm that Joker's vest and pants are striped with his orgasm.  
  
    When he looks up, however, Joker just looks completely pleased with himself and accomplished as he smirks for him. "Time to wake up."  
  
    Akira only has a second to wonder what that means before Joker's hands are moving fast through the bars and _shoving_ him.  
  
    His arms pinwheel as he tries to grasp at the bars, but it's too late. He goes plunging backwards fast and wild, and Akira closes his eyes for impact. He jolts hard into consciousness, slamming up from the bed with a loud gasp.  
  
    Dust mots wink back at him serenely. Akira looks around with panting breaths and wide, terrified eyes to see the very familiar surroundings of the Leblanc attic. From downstairs he can hear a muffled 'Did you hear that? Is he awake!? Come on!', and Akira barely has enough time to register what has happened before he sees the bouncing blond hair of Ann crest over the stairs.  
  
    A rushed look under the blankets has him sighing in relief before he pastes a smile on his face. It would seem Joker had been right.  
  
    Still, it is time to act again.


End file.
